


Jeeves and the Stellar Expedition

by Gracierocket



Category: Jeeves and Wooster
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-15 04:02:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13022829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gracierocket/pseuds/Gracierocket
Summary: When Jeeves feels insecure about his cyborg status, Bertie must take drastic action to teach him his true value.Happy Christmas ServiceRevolver! I'm afraid I don't ship Jeeves and Wooster but I've done my best to give you everything else you asked for: an airship, Cyborg! Jeeves, some light hurt/comfort where Jeeves feels insecure, and most importantly friendship and a happy ending. Have a lovely day!





	Jeeves and the Stellar Expedition

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jade56](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jade56/gifts).



I don't know if I've ever mentioned it to you before, but round the world cruises always leave me rather cold. Suggest a weekend jaunt to Brinkley Court, or a week's stargazing on the Lunar Outpost, and you will find Bertram chomping at the bit, eager to be up and doing. But suggest a trip that involves leaving the old homestead to gather dust for more than about two weeks, and I soon find myself yearning for the green green grass of home. So as you can imagine, it was with some significant trepidation that I found myself sauntering onto the good Airship Flora bound for six month-long tour of the Solar System.

But how, I hear you asking, does old stay-at-home Bertram find himself agreeing to such an expedition? Well, the solution to the mystery lies, as I find it so often does, in Aunts. In this instance, in my Aunt Dahlia. I shan't bore those readers who follow my work closely with a long summary of my dealings with that excellent specimen of aunthood, so suffice it to say that she is my good, deserving aunt, and the one whose wish is my instant command. It seemed that Uncle Tom had been advised by his doctors that a trip to the Venusian Healing Waters might be just the thing for his dyspepsia, and Aunt Dahlia having resolved that on no account would she be trapped on an airship for six months with no-one to sit down to dinner with, had recruited me.

Accordingly, I found myself clustered on deck with all the other guests to take in the view as the Airship loosed its moorings and sailed gently up into the stratosphere. And after just enough time had elapsed for the ooohs and ahhhhs to be wearing a bit thin, and for even the most ardent fan of gazing, as I have heard Jeeves put it, with a wild surmise at the Earth from space to find their attention turning with more and more frequency to what was for lunch, and when they might be likely to get at it, we found ourselves at last free of the Earth's atmosphere and sailing merrily off towards the sun.

I popped down to investigate my cabin, and found everything in perfect order, Jeeves having begun preparations as soon as we were on board. I dressed for dinner, and then rang the bell for Jeeves, hoping to squeeze in a swift cocktail before called upon to don the nose bag. Receiving no answer, I rang again. Still nothing.

I don't know if the oddness of this will strike you, so perhaps I should point out that my man Jeeves has a near-prescient ability to know when he will be needed, and generally arrives within about five seconds of the bell being rung. After a third optimistic dinging of the bell, I wandered into the lounge and resolved to make the cocktail myself. We Woosters are not to be found labouring helplessly when called upon to do for ourselves, and my cocktails, while never hoping to match Jeeves' standard, are nevertheless perfectly serviceable.

But before I could get anywhere near the cocktail counter, my attention was arrested by the sight of the man himself. Jeeves was sitting there on the sofa with his head bowed.

“Jeeves!” I said, getting right to the point. “There you are!”

Jeeves raised his head slowly, and for a moment I thought his bionic eye must be malfunctioning because he seemed to be staring straight through me. Then he came to himself.

“My apologies, sir. My mind was elsewhere. Is there anything you require?”

“Never mind me, Jeeves,” I said. “What's the matter?”

He stood up, and I noticed he was holding an envelope in his hand. For a moment I thought he might lapse into that thousand mile stare again but instead he met my eye.

“I regret, sir”, he said, “that I must tender my resignation.”

“Jeeves!” I cried. “Surely you're not still angry about the telescopic monocle?”

“No, sir,” he said. “Your willingness to part with the item in question entirely resolved the issue in my mind.”

I groped for a chair. The man had me fogged. He noticed my distress, and went straight to the cabinet to mix me one of his restoratives. I don't think either of us said another word until I had drained that glass and the one that followed it.

“Then why, Jeeves?” I said eventually.

He paused. “It is my belief that it is no longer in my power to provide the level of service I feel is your due, sir,” he said.

Well, you can imagine what I said about that. I told him in no uncertain terms that his service was exemplary and it was down to me to let him know if he ever dropped below par. He wouldn't budge, and try as I might I couldn't extract from him any further information.

“Very well, Jeeves,” I said at last. “If this really is your wish, I will of course provide you with excellent references.”

“Thank you, sir”, he said, and turned instantly away from me.

*********

Dinner that evening took place on deck, as we were passing well within view of the Milky Way and our hosts were keen to make the most of the light show. I threaded my way through the crowd to Aunt Dahlia's table and sat down, my head still reeling.

“Well, Bertie, my beamish boy,” boomed Aunt Dahlia the moment I reached my seat, “this is the life, eh? The open sky, the adventurous spirit, the prospect of a cure that'll give even your Uncle Tom something to smile about. What's eating you?” she concluded, for my sombre mood had finally intruded on her cheery monologue.

“It's Jeeves,” I said. “He's just offered me his resignation.”

“Ah,” she replied.

“Ah?” I said. “My dear old Ancestor, “Ah” doesn't cover it.” I spoke sharply. I had been expecting her to give me the old wringing hands and 'surely not' routine, and her perfunctory 'ah' hardly seemed up to the task.

“Well, it's not surprising, is it?” she said, looking grave.

“Not surprising? After many happy years in my service he ups and leaves with no explanation and all you've got to say for it is an “Ah, that's not surprising'?”

“Well, she said, leaning in, “Jeeves' cybernetic implants are all Gamma Series, aren't they?”

“Of course,” I said. Jeeves is extremely discerning in his use of cybernetics, and his subtle Gamma Series enhancements are all in excellent taste.

“Well,” she said, “there you are then. The Gamma line is being discontinued. Oh, they'll keep up basic maintenance updates, but they'll all be completely incompatible with the new Delta range. Jeeves' enhancements are about to start looking prehistoric.

“But surely he realises I couldn't care less if he represents the latest cyborg technology has to offer, or not,” I said.

“I doubt it.” said Aunt Dahlia. “You've got to think about, how does he put it? The psychology of the individual. Jeeves is proud. He respects you immensely and he won't be happy offering you what he regards as sub-standard service.”

I looked at her keenly. “So what you're saying,” I said, “is that if I don't want to lose him, I have to convince him that, Delta Series implants or not, he's still the best valet in the business.”

Aunt Dahlia took a meditative bite of lamb. “That seems about the size of it,” she said.

*********

I don't mind telling you that this puzzle gave me a great deal of trouble. Usually, of course, when faced with the kind of problem destined to tax the little grey cells to the utmost, I bring it straight to Jeeves, but naturally in this particular circumstance, that was impossible. I had done all that could be done in the speaking line, and no amount of “I don't care what kind of implants you have” back and forth was making the slightest dent in his resolve. He'd listen politely, might even go so far as a “just as you, say, sir,” and then go back to his duties just as determined to leave my service as soon as we got back to port.

It was clear that no amount of speaking would do the trick. But fortunately, we Woosters are men of action. I saw that some gesture was needed that could prove to Jeeves that no-one could serve me better.

“It's all very well saying that, my young bimbo,” said Aunt Dahlia, when I put my conundrum before her the following night over dinner, “but how? He obviously thinks you don't know your own mind, and would be far happier with some godawful Delta Series cyborg who can whizz around running your life for you and has one hand that turns into cocktail shaker. You've tried telling him it's not true; what more can you do?”

“Well, aged relative,” I said, looking suavely into her eyes, “I can show him.”

*********

That night, I put my plan into action. 

“Jeeves, I said,” I'd like you to send a telegram to the Mars valet agency and ask them to put out an advertisement for a new valet who uses Delta Series implants and is fully future-compatible. If we can pick someone up on our first stop, you can supervise their handover before you leave us.”

I detected a slight pause, and I saw he was a little taken aback. It isn't easy to take Jeeves aback, so it was with some satisfaction that I realised I'd pulled it off. His voice was a softer than normal as he gave me a “very good, sir”, and shimmered out.

A week later, I found myself welcoming a new valet into the Wooster home. It came as no surprise that Jeeves had chosen extremely well. Woebegone, for that was the man's name, was quiet, pleasant, and efficient. Too quiet, if anything. Jeeves has an augmentation that allows his movements to be virtually silent when he wants them to be (a real boon if he's coming in to provide the young master with a restorative after a lively night), but Woebegone was actually able to teleport himself silently around the cabin, appearing right at your elbow the second he was summoned. Still, he was a pleasant enough fellow and under Jeeves' tutelage he quickly become a highly serviceable valet. 

Jeeves' willingness to tutor Woebegone to the best of his ability showed off the most sterling qualities of the man, but it came as a shock the next morning when I rang the bell for a morning pick-me-up and found Woebegone at my side bearing the sacred liquor. I knocked it back and was astonished to discover that it was every bit as good as Jeeves'. I stared at the empty glass. Woebegone's Delta Series adaptations included surface-level telepathy, so I shouldn't have been surprised when he answered my silent question: “Mr Jeeves was kind enough to vouchsafe the recipe to me, sir,” he said. 

Now, I hardly need tell you that Jeeves' restorative is a secret recipe. In all the years I've known him, I've never been able to establish more than that it certainly contains a raw egg and what I think is probably tabasco. For him to have gone so far as to share it with this man was a mark of affection as great as any I had known from him.

There was no more time to lose. I rose, dressed, and pulled from beneath my supply of pocket squares the telescopic monocle. I pinned it confidently in place, and went out, noting with some satisfaction the look of restrained horror on Jeeves' face.

I was, as I had known I would be, roundly mocked for the offending article at dinner that night. I don't say I was actually ostracised from polite society, but my stock as a well dressed man about town certainly dropped a few points. Still, we Woosters are a loyal band, and the knowledge that I was serving a greater purpose took the sting entirely away from my Aunt Dahlia's remark that I looked like a lopsided owl.

The next day, I took things still further. Taking from my bag a bottle I had bought for the purpose, I splashed some instant-grow moustache cream onto my upper lip, and before I left the cabin I was the proud possessor of my most controversial fashion choice yet. I do not swear to it, but I think I actually saw Jeeves' eye twitch as he watched me leave the room.

On the third morning, Woebegone shimmered silently to my side and asked courteously if I intended to trim the moustache before going out. I looked up haughtily. “Woebegone,” I said, “I suggest you do not attempt to come between me and my moustache.” Jeeves, who was cleaning some invisible dust off the walnut dresser across the room, turned abruptly away at that moment, but I saw no other sign of his weakening will.

I realised an even more drastic measure would need to be taken. If knowledge of the sartorial faux pas that would litter my future without him were not sufficient to prove that no valet could ever compete with Jeeves in my affections, I would be forced to take one last, radical step.

***********

It was with a heavy heart that I contemplated what I must do. My resolve never weakened, but it would be deceiving my public were I to suggest that the plan I had settled upon was anything other than a grand sacrifice of a kind worthy of the Woosters who fought at Agincourt.

I spent the morning with pen and paper, and by lunch time I had produced what I needed.

“Jeeves,” I said nonchalantly, “could you take this down to the printing room and get a few dozen copies made?”

“Certainly, sir,” he said, taking the document from me.

“Oh, and Woebegone,” I added, “could you go down to the Airship music room and source me a banjolele?

I kept my eye on Woebegone, but the look of frozen horror on Jeeves' face as he glanced over the document in his hand was clearly visible.

“sir...” he started.

“Yes, Jeeves?” I said, and I kept a cool reserve in my tone.

“You intend to stage a banjolele concert for the better class of guests on the airship?”

“I do indeed, Jeeves. I think it's about time I give the old instrument a second chance. Woebegone, what are your thoughts?”

Woebegone, eager to please, gave the answer I knew he would.

“I hear that music is very educational, sir,” he said.

For a moment, a silence hung between the three of us. Jeeves stared at me. Woebegone looked between us, and then smiled, made a polite excuse and shimmered out.

I waited. 

“Sir...” said Jeeves.

I waited. I knew if we weren't going to be repeating this dance every time the Delta Series released a new upgrade, it was imperative that the lesson really sink in now.

“Sir,” he began again, “I think perhaps I may have been a little hasty in considering that my usefulness to you had reached its natural conclusion.”

“Jeeves,” I said, “let us be clear. There is no possibility of your usefulness to me ever reaching a natural conclusion, and I should be most grateful if we could consider the matter closed forever.”

He paused. I felt I could see the cogs whirring in that massive brain of his. Eventually he spoke.

“Very good, sir. I shall inform Mr Woebegone that his services are no longer required.”

“And I,” I said, “shall go in search of a razor.”


End file.
